


The One Jacket

by iolanthe_rosa



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-07
Updated: 2003-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-19 11:11:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iolanthe_rosa/pseuds/iolanthe_rosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story written from the point of view of a jacket. Consider yourself warned. I have taken some liberties with the actual sequence of events at Collectormania.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Jacket

*I Become Myself*

Elijah says life is a journey, and he’s right. If anyone had told me where my journey was going to take me, back when I was still on the bolt at the factory, I would have told them to stop pulling my sleeve. London, Paris, New York, magazine shoots and movie premieres, who would have believed it? But I’m getting ahead of myself. Elijah does that, gets all excited and starts telling the story in the wrong order. Then Dom laughs and says, “Begin at the beginning.” So that’s what I’m going to do.

In the beginning, I was several yards of tan fine-wale corduroy wrapped around a piece of cardboard. I hated being on the bolt; I couldn’t tell where I began and where I ended. Then they cut me up into little pieces, and that was even worse. I felt all scattered and disorganized. It was horrible. But the getting stitched together part? Now that was cool. It felt soooo good to have that needle running through me, tying all the piece-parts together with those tight little stitches, and the clever fingers of the seamstress turning me all around and inside-out and outside-in again, adding buttons down my front and along my cuffs, and little leather details to my pockets. When it was over, I felt like a million bucks. I was something: a jacket. It felt good to be something.

From there, it was on and off trucks, a confusing series of boxes and dark storerooms, until, finally, I was hung on a department store rack with a bunch of other jackets just like me. I kind of knew what to expect, because people had talked about it in the factory: one day I was going to be bought and worn by someone. I liked that idea, that I was going to belong to someone. But I didn’t really know what that meant until people at the store started trying me on.

There’s nothing like actually being worn by a real person. I love the way a body feels when it’s pressed against my fabric. It makes me feel so alive. I love knowing that my fabric is going to keep that person warm, that my pockets will give them a place to keep their important things, that I’ll be able to serve them just by being myself. Every time someone tried me on for size, I would get excited that maybe this would be the perfect fit I was waiting for.

Well, it didn’t exactly end up happening that way. My first owner was a 13-year-old boy named Jimmy. I was too big for him, but his mom wanted something he could grow into. He was a good kid; he only used me for special occasions, like picture day at school and the occasional trip to church. I spent most of my time in his closet, but I heard a lot of what was going on in the household. I learned about moms and dads and brothers and sisters. When he took to me to school, I learned about teenagers and the way they talked. Jimmy took good care of me. He spilled some spaghetti sauce on me once and his mom got upset, but it turned out to be a good thing, because that meant I got to take my first trip to:

 ((((The Dry Cleaners))))

Wow. That’s all I can say. Going to the dry cleaners is like going to a spa. They coat you in lovely chemicals that get you clean like new and then they primp you and fluff you and press you in a hot, steamy iron, and wrap you in plastic and you get to ride around on that roller-coaster thing, and, well, what can I say? It’s just the best thing ever. Unfortunately, my dry-cleanings have been few and far-between, but I sure love them when they happen.

 Now I’ve lost my train of thought. Where was I? Oh yeah. Jimmy. At some point, Jimmy stopped being called Jimmy and started being Jim. Around the same time, he got too big for me, so I was handed down to his little brother Mike. Mike never liked me and I never liked Mike. Mike would fight with his mom about me.

“I don’t want to wear that stupid jacket! I look like a dork in it!”

“No you don’t and even if you did, I said wear it!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

You get the idea.

No one likes being called stupid, not even a jacket. And I sure as hell didn’t like being accused of making someone look like a dork. And let me just tell you something about Mike: you could have put him in fucking Versace, and he still would have looked like a dork.

Excuse the f-word: it’s a bad habit I picked up from Elijah; he’s got me swearing like a sailor’s pea coat.

Anyway, to make a long story short, I spent close to 10 years with that family, but the last 3 were spent in Mike’s closet. It was so boring in there, you have no idea. Sometimes a shirt or a pair of slacks would come through with an interesting story to tell, but mostly it was just, well, hanging around. It was almost a relief the day Mike’s mom took me off the hanger, threw me in a box with a bunch of other stuff, and drove me to the used clothing store.

 

*I Become Elijah’s Jacket*

When you fit someone properly, it feels good. But when you fit someone perfectly, you don't ever want to be with anyone else. For an article of clothing, a perfect fit creates a feeling of completeness and purpose that’s hard to describe. That’s the way it was for Elijah and me. It was like we were made for each other. When he put me on for the first time at the used-clothing store, I suddenly didn’t feel like a 10-year-old hand-me-down; I felt like I had just arrived fresh from the factory.

“Hey, Dom, check this out.”

“What? That ratty jacket?”

It was a good thing I did not know then that to be Elijah’s jacket was to endure endless verbal abuse from Dom.

“What do you mean? It’s in great condition! Look, it even still has its extra button on the inside. Only high class jackets have the sewn-in extra button.”

High class! I liked that!

“And what would you know about high class jackets?” Dom asked with derision.

“Hey, I wore Gucci to the Academy Awards. What did you wear to the Academy Awards?”

Dom paused. “Elijah, that was a low blow.”

“Seemed to me you were pretty happy with the low blow I gave you last night.” Then Elijah giggled.

That was the first time I had ever heard Elijah giggle. I love his giggle; when he really lets loose with it, these little vibrations run up and down my seams, and I feel warm and happy all over.

“Don’t change the subject, Elijah. That jacket is too old and too boring.”

“It’s not old! It’s.. it’s … vintage!”

I think that was the exact moment that I fell hopelessly in love with Elijah Wood.

“And as for boring,” Elijah continued, “I think your clothes are interesting enough for the both of us, don’t you?”

“Why do I feel like that was not meant as a compliment?”

“I’m getting this jacket, Dom.”

“You’re just doing it to spite me.”

“Maybe.”

“Fine. Get the fucking jacket.”

“I will.”

I was so happy at the prospect of being bought by Elijah, that I didn’t think much about Dom and his insults. At the moment, I was focused with every fiber of my being on willing Elijah to complete his purchase. And he did. He did!

Every day, I thank the Master Tailor for bringing us together.

 

*I Become Part of Elijah’s Life*

Everything changed after that. I went from being a rarely used, underappreciated old jacket to being a beloved fixture of Elijah’s wardrobe. I became accustomed to the rhythms of his day, to his needs. Sometimes he needed me to fit him snugly, to keep him warm. Sometimes he need me to be loose and open, to let the cool air surround him. A good jacket will open himself to his owner’s physical and emotional needs and strive to meet them. At least, that’s what I try to do.

I slowly became imbued with Elijah’s scent: his sweat, his aftershave, his cloves. Oh, those cloves. I used to worry that Elijah would accidentally burn me, but he was pretty careful. One of my pockets became his cloves pocket. One of the few things that Dom and I agreed on was that we wished Elijah would quit smoking. Dom was concerned for Elijah's health, but for my part, it was a purely selfish concern for my own safety. Whenever I could, I would try to arrange things so that the cigarettes would fall out when Elijah wasn’t looking. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve felt him patting my cigarette pocket and swearing under his breath, “Can’t believe I lost another pack!” Heh.

I remember one such time, when Elijah and I had just returned home from running errands. He went straight into the bedroom to change his clothes and tossed me onto the foot of the bed. I was busy trying to arrange things so that his cigarettes would slip into the space between the mattress and the footboard, when Dom entered the room. He picked me up between two fingers and curled his lip in distaste. “Your old jacket needs to go to the cleaners.”

“What?” Elijah said. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, taking off his sneakers.

“I could smell your jacket decaying as soon as I came into the room.”

“Whatever happened to ‘Hi, how are you, did you have a nice day?’” Elijah asked huffily.

“Hi how are you did you have a nice day, you’re jacket fucking smells,” Dom replied.

“It does not smell. Much.”

“Does too.”

“Does not.”

For two guys deeply in love, they do bicker a lot.

Elijah reached to grab me from Dom, but Dom pulled me away from Elijah’s grasp. Elijah overbalanced and fell backwards onto the bed. In an instant, Dom was on top of him. He pinned Elijah’s arms over his head.

“Wash. The. Jacket.”

“No.” Elijah was laughing now.

“I’m not going to let you go until you say you’ll wash the jacket.”

Elijah’s tone softened. “Then I guess I’ll never wash the jacket.”

Next thing I know, they’re kissing and clothing is flying everywhere and they’re rolling around on the bed. Not just on the bed: on me. Dom and I may have our differences, but let me tell you something, having his ass grinding into your seams is a mighty fine feeling.

They shifted positions and now it was both of them on me, side by side, face to face, holding each other, little gasps and moans and sighs filling the room like breathy music. I love being with Dom and Elijah when they make love. That’s exactly what they do: take a silent bedroom or an unmade bed and create love there with just their fingers and mouths and eyes and bodies. I soon felt something warm and wet spreading across my fabric.

After a moment, Elijah and Dom rolled off me. Elijah gingerly picked me up and studied me with an amused expression.

“I guess you were right. This jacket does need to go to the cleaners.”

 

*I Become a Jacket of the World*

My first job after being acquired by Elijah was a photo shoot for YM magazine. It was an amazing experience. People they called stylists took me off to a corner and were all over me like weevils on cotton, snipping off stray threads with sharp little scissors, treating my leather bits with oil on a Q-Tip, and brushing me until I shone. I guess something similar was happening to Elijah, because when I saw him again, he was glowing.

Elijah is a beautiful man at all times, but usually when I see him, he’s his ordinary self: thick glasses, unshaven chin, half-awake after a late night out. But that day, he was just gorgeous, his hair glossy and full, his eyes and skin luminous. I was never prouder to be his jacket. If you look at the photos from that session, I think you can see how happy I was to be there with him.

Soon after that, The Two Towers premiere season began in earnest. What a whirlwind that was! Day after day of interviews, hundreds of them, each just a few minutes long; more photo shoots, t.v. talk shows, and lots and lots of travel: New York, Los Angeles, Berlin, Paris. Elijah took me with him everywhere.

I suppose I should have been jealous of those fussy little suits he wore to the premieres, but I wasn’t. By then, I was secure in my role as Elijah’s Favorite Jacket. The Premiere Suits knew it and kept their distance, and that was okay with me. They all disappeared soon after the premieres ended anyway. Elijah’s just not a fussy-little-suit kind of person.

There was one jacket, though, that was different. You see, that’s another thing that Elijah and I have in common. In the world of garments, this is the way it is: jackets go with pants and pants go with jackets. That’s the natural order of things, right? Wrong. Let me tell you something: I’m attracted to other jackets. Always have been. Always will be. It’s just the way I’m stitched, so if you have a problem with that, you should stop reading right now.

My busy life with Elijah did not leave me much time for relationships with other jackets, and Elijah didn’t own many jackets other than those nasty Premiere Suits. He did have a nice leather bomber jacket that I fancied a bit, but I’m really not into leather, you know? Dom had some great jackets, but he would never allow his things to share closet space with me, because he said I made them smell of cigarettes.

But the Master Tailor once again saw fit to send happiness my way.

Dom had bought a special jacket to wear to the London Premiere. It was a Chinese-style, lightly padded black jacket, with frog closures, Mandarin collar, and brilliant turquoise silk lining. It was the most beautiful article of clothing I had ever seen and I was attracted to it immediately. Of course, I could only admire it from afar, as Dom would not let any of his nice things near me.

Elijah and I did not go to the London premiere, but after premiere season ended, we all went to England together on holiday with Billy. Before joining Billy, we spent a few days at Dom’s parents’ house in Manchester. When Elijah and I arrived, we went directly upstairs so he could put down his suitcase and freshen up. At home, he would have thrown me on the foot of his bed, but as a guest at Dom’s parent’s house, I guess he felt like he needed to act like he was the kind of person who actually hung up his clothes. So he opened the closet, took out a hanger, hung me up, and closed the door. Imagine my delight when I found myself placket to placket with Dom’s Black Jacket.

Turns out that, since he was in England anyway, Dom had stored his London Premiere clothes as well as the things he planned to wear on his vacation with Elijah at his parents’ house. It probably never crossed his mind that when he came back, he and Elijah would have to share a closet. I don’t know if I was happier about at last being in the presence of that magnificent jacket or about having unwittingly outsmarted Dom.

The first thing I noticed was how good Dom’s Black Jacket smelled: I could detect Dom’s aftershave and his own unique scent, of course, but I was also enticed by the lingering musky aroma of incense from the Asian import shop that had been its home until Dom had purchased it. The scent was exotic and sexy. I was suddenly self-conscious about my own unique mélange of odors. I had been dry-cleaned before the premieres, but I had seen a lot of stuffy airplane miles and smoky hotel rooms since then.

But Dom’s Black Jacket did not seem to mind. No sooner had I introduced myself, than it rustled its silken folds seductively against my softly ribbed fabric. I can’t ever remember a fabric that felt so good against my own. Within seconds, I was thoroughly aroused.

I suppose I’m revealing some Secrets of Garment Life by telling you all this, but you would be amazed at what clothes get up to in the quiet dark of your closets. Dom’s Black Jacket and I did not waste any time getting down to business. We knew it would not be long before Dom discovered us together and separated us again, perhaps forever. We knew we were not destined for an enduring relationship that would be allowed to grow and deepen over time. This was about a passionate night between two jackets seizing the moment.

We were all over each other like a cheap suit, Dom’s Black Jacket’s sleeves were in my pockets and my rough leather buttons were rubbing against its silken frog closures. Our fabric hissed and vibrated as we caressed each other, creating heat that I could feel to the ends of my cuffs. I wish I could have made it last longer, but it had been a long time for both of us and we were excited and incapable of rational thought. It was not long before we were coming in each other’s pockets.

So if you ever wonder where those little bits of lint in your jacket pockets come from, well, now you know.

 

 *I Become Friends With Dom*

After the premiere season, things settled down. Elijah took a break from the publicity grind and we went to lots of concerts together. We shopped for places in New York and New Zealand. We traveled to Australia and Hong Kong. We settled into a relaxed rhythm of work and rest. Dom had a few jobs in London that kept him away for weeks at a time, and I made it my special care to ensure that Elijah’s cell phone was always securely held in my pocket and readily available for his frequent calls to Dom. I was very happy and felt full of purpose.

At the end of the Summer, something happened that changed my relationship with Dom forever.

Elijah had not been feeling well for a few days. I had tried hard to be extra warm and comfortable for him, but nothing I did seemed to help. What had started out as a bad stomach-ache had gotten worse and worse until, finally, Elijah doubled over and could barely walk. His skin was clammy against my lining and his breathing was shallow. Dom and Debbie drove him to the emergency room and Dom was left clutching me as they rushed Elijah away for surgery for a burst appendix.

Dom and I spent hours together in that waiting room. I lay across his lap, and he stroked me over and over and over until I thought my nap would turn to dust. Occasionally, he would pick me up and smell me. For once, I was glad I hadn’t been to the dry cleaners lately.

After the surgery was over, Dom and I got to visit for a few minutes with Elijah, then we went home. Dom threw me over the back of the sofa, lay down next to me, and closed his eyes. It had been a long day and we were exhausted. After a moment, Dom opened his eyes, and I could sense him staring at me. Suddenly, he got up, walked to the little desk in the corner, and pulled out a pair of scissors.

I have to admit, I panicked. Dom and I had had a pretty rocky relationship. I knew that he only tolerated me because I made Elijah happy – the same reason, come to think of it, that I tolerated him. Now he was coming after me with scissors! My mind was racing. Perhaps he had gone crazy with worry and fatigue and he was going to cut me into little pieces! I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe that my amazing, charmed life was going to end this way!

You can imagine my surprise, then, when Dom gently lifted me off the sofa and used the scissors to snip off my sewn-in extra button. He went to the dresser and took a necklace out of a little box, you know, the necklace with all the stuff on it, like the washer and the little key. He strung my button on it and returned it to the box.

I know I’m just an old jacket, but that doesn’t keep me from being an arrogant bastard sometimes. It hadn’t occurred to me that anyone was capable of loving Elijah as much as I do. But that night, I realized that Dom does. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he does.

 

 *I Become a Celebrity*

By the time Collectormania came around, I was so used to being dragged here, there, and everywhere by Elijah that I wasn’t even curious about what kind of event it was. A meeting with a director, a photo shoot, a trip to visit friends, it was all part of A Day in the Life of Elijah’s Jacket. I had learned to live in the moment, you know? Be here now and all that stuff Dom’s always saying.

So I was completely unprepared for the wild scene that was Collectormania. The crowds! People everywhere, in lines, in clusters, in audiences, everywhere Elijah and I turned: crowds, flashbulbs, screaming girls. When we walked to or from the autograph signing table, a mass of bodies would start pressing towards us. It was impossible to be alone.

At first, it was so overwhelming, I was scared. But Elijah’s such a pro, you know? None of it seemed to faze him. He looked around, bemused, and just took it all in. Being with him was like being in the eye of the storm. With his support, I felt secure and comfortable on his back. That’s what’s so special about our partnership. We’re there for each other. I was on edge, but Elijah never lost his cool. Sometimes it’s the other way around: Elijah feels nervous, and he clings tightly to me. Teamwork.

The autograph signing that first day was grueling. Elijah must have signed hundreds, maybe thousands of autographs. I know he was feeling tired. It had only been a month or two since his appendectomy. And yet he was cordial and friendly to everyone, giving each individual his full attention. He made eye contact with and smiled brightly at each and every person who was lucky enough to get to the front of the line. I wondered what kept him going. So many of the autograph seekers were silly young girls, or women old enough to be his mother, or tongue-tied fans who didn’t have anything to say. And yet he actually seemed to be enjoying himself.

That night, Elijah and Sean did a question-and-answer session in front of an audience. Those kinds of sessions are always interesting to me, because I wasn’t there in New Zealand when the movies were being filmed. Whenever Elijah does an interview or a Q&A, I hope to learn something new and interesting along with everyone else.

So I was fully alert when a woman in the audience stood up and said, “Can I tell you, you look fantastic in the Tan Jacket of Godliness!”

What she said was so unexpected, so surprising, I couldn’t quite take it in. Was she talking about me? Before I could recover from the shock, Elijah was responding.

“The Tan Jacket of Godliness? Wow! I'm never going to take it off!”

I have no memory of anything that happened after that. My mind was reeling. The Tan Jacket of Godliness! She meant me! I suppose with so many pictures having been taken of Elijah and me together, I was becoming recognizable too. I had a fan! I was a celebrity!

The next day, during autographs, there she was again, The Tan Jacket Lady. And then, I got it. At last I understood why Elijah was willing to sign autograph after autograph, hour after hour, despite his own boredom and fatigue. When someone loves you, when someone acknowledges your work and recognizes its importance and how well you do it, it creates love inside you, too, and you don’t mind giving a little piece of yourself away.

I could tell she and Elijah were talking about me again, because he pointed to where I was hanging on an empty chair behind him. Suddenly, the Tan Jacket Lady was not just another autograph-seeker. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, with golden brown hair and warm brown eyes to match. If there had been a thousand of her in line, I would have happily let each and every one of them have a little piece of me.

 

 *I Tie Up Some Loose Ends*

I’m still working hard for Elijah, but I must admit that I’m beginning to feel a little worn out. My fabric is thinning at the elbows. Some of my threads are coming loose at the seams. My pockets are all stretched out. I’ve been crumpled and slept in during 18-hour plane flights and left outside and soaked in the rain. Even my dry cleanings, as much as I loved them, have taken a toll.

Sometimes I wonder what Elijah’s going to do with me when it’s all over. I’m really too worn to be passed on to anyone else. I suppose he’ll throw me away and I’ll end up decomposing somewhere, slowly returning to the earth that nurtured my cotton in the first place. That’s not such a bad thought.

The life of an article of clothing is kind of like that reincarnation thing Dom talks about. Each new owner is like a new life. Each life is an adventure, and my life with Elijah has certainly been that, and more. At some point, though, you don’t need or want any more new lives. That’s the way I feel. My most recent life was a perfect life, and now it’s time for me to stop.

Sometimes I worry that Elijah won’t remember me after I’m gone. But then I think of all the thousands of photos of us together, and all the special and unique times that we shared, and I know that it will be impossible for him to forget me completely. After all, I am The Tan Jacket of Godliness.


End file.
